


Dipshit Spy's Guide to Making Things Right

by SkazuhiraMiller



Series: Master Miller's Guide to Surviving the 2000s [3]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: ASSFLASH NEWSHOLE, M/M, Master Miller's precious dogs, Ocelot Experiences An Emotion (And So Can You! Here's How!), Oceplot Culmination, Secret Postcredits Chapter, aint no pact like a onesided death pact, god fucking dammit Pat Benetar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 18:06:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17492684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkazuhiraMiller/pseuds/SkazuhiraMiller
Summary: Maybe Ocelot's peace and Master Miller's can coexist after all.





	Dipshit Spy's Guide to Making Things Right

**Author's Note:**

> You should read Dumb Assholes Guide to Home Invasion, the first fic in this series, first, to fully get the gist of this one! 
> 
> This is also probably the most serious thing i've ever written and like... This isn't where i originally intended to end it but.. Yakuza fandom calls and i figured y'all deserved what i had of it...

“Have a nice day!” 

“You too.”  The worker at the door marked off Miller’s receipt with a pink highlighter. The ink slashed through the total. $109.64. For one of those huge carts piled to the brim with groceries and assorted items. Wasn’t quite the rush of cutting Diamond Dogs an  _ excellent _ deal back in the day. But it was close enough. 

Approaching his spot in the bustling parking lot he noticed a white Honda Civic, stopped squarely behind his truck. They were probably waiting for the red car that was pulling out a few spots down. But the red car drove away and the Civic didn’t budge. Miller squinted at the window, getting closer. 

The car was empty. No driver in sight.  So he was fucking boxed in. Great. No way around the  _ fucking Prius _ that was parked in front of him, either. We  _ get it, you're saving the Earth and you're so much better than everyone else _ . He grumbled as he unloaded the contents of his cart into his truck. If there weren’t so many people around he’d  _ strongly _ consider keying the fucking Civic with his metal index finger. Would serve the bastard right for trapping him. Who the fuck  _ does  _ that? 

As if to answer, he heard jingling. Someone’s keys. Jingle. Jingle. Jingle. 

_ Don’t fucking kid yourself. Those aren’t keys. It’s exactly what it sounds like. _ Miller whipped around. His CQC training took hold and he slammed the man he found against the truck into a tactical chokehold. It was him alright. 

“So you finally decided to do it, after all these years,” Miller spat. “But, seriously? You’re really gonna end it here? In front of all these witnesses? Or are you gonna kill that five-year-old over there too, you  _ sick fuck?”  _

Revolver Ocelot gasped for air. “Now, Kazuhira,” he- how  _ fucking dare he- _

“ _ CHOKE _ ON THAT FUCKING NAME,” Miller snarled, tightening his hold to emphasize the verb. 

“That same five-year-old and his mother are currently witnessing an assault. She’s gonna reach for her cell phone in about thirty seconds if this continues,” said the bastard, in the calmest voice anyone has ever used while on the verge of strangulation. Somehow he managed to keep up that stupid, fake Southern accent that haunted Miller’s dreams. He had a point though. Miller released him. Best not to make a scene. He took a breath. No murder could occur in the Costco parking lot, right?

“I’m unarmed. Feel free to pat me down and check for yourself,” Ocelot said, slowly rising from his slump against the truck’s fender. 

Miller exhaled. He might as well not take the fucking  _ superspy  _ at his word. Ocelot lifted his arms. Miller laid hesitant hands on him. “So what the hell are you doing?” 

 

“Well, for starters. I’ve got you right where I want you.” 

“And how’s that?” 

“Alive.”  _ That’s fucking rich. _

“Oh, so you can draw it out? Make it really count, you sadistic sonuvabitch? Bet you’d really get off on it too. Take my other limbs off. One finger at a time.” 

Ocelot’s unreadable countenance shifted almost imperceptibly. His torso was free of weapons that Miller could detect, at least. Moving on. Should almost make him take off the stupid boots to make sure there’s nothing in there. Now that he thought about it, those were probably fine. The spats Ocelot wore over his boots to prevent snow from getting in would also prevent him from drawing that knife Miller remembered in any sort of timely fashion. He checked the spurs, just to see if they were  _ sharpened _ . They weren’t. 

“Or is that not it? Are you trying to make it  _ fair?  _ A duel. Like one of your stupid movies. One, two, three,  _ draw…”  _ Miller trailed off for a second. Made his way up Ocelot’s thighs and-  _ motherfucker-  _

“That isn’t-”

“I  _ know what it is _ . That’s all it took then, huh? Just thinking about  _ cutting me up got you going _ ? You  _ fucking degenerate _ .” Miller shuddered with revulsion and fought off a dry heave.  _ Don’t let him get to you. _ To show  _ just how much  _ he didn’t get to him, Miller looked him in the face. He looked… the most embarrassed Miller had ever seen him. He had to hand it to Ocelot. He had been pretty sure that was an emotion he wasn’t capable of.  _ Nothing to say, for once in your fucking life?  _ Miller continued on. 

“But is that it? Were you gonna try to  _ pretend _ like ‘One of us will have to kill the other’ was anything more than a  _ joke _ at my expense?” 

Ocelot’s eyes were on the ground. “I didn’t see it as a joke,” he said, quietly. 

“Then what the fuck  _ was _ it? And why  _ now _ ? Newsflash, asshole, you  _ lost _ five years ago. Big Boss is dead.” January 2000 had been the most stressful month he could remember. Every day, every hour, every minute, he could swear he was a step away from Ocelot’s  _ retribution _ . But it never came. 

“Did I?” Ocelot’s hand went to his pocket. Miller instinctively knocked the- oh. Car keys. Out of his hand. They clattered on the pavement. 

“Did you  _ what _ ?” Miller squinted. 

“Did I lose?” He paused, still not looking at the keys. “Or did  _ we _ win?” 

“We-?”

“Someone should really do something about that car. Whoever parked it is an asshole.” 

Miller stared at the keys.  _ Your move then. _

Ocelot exhaled, and finally bent and picked up the keys. Held them out. “Go ahead. You’re in control.” 

Miller took them. There had to be a catch. What was it? He took cautious steps around to the driver’s door. He bet the car was rigged to explode. 

“Go on. Get in. Or don’t. It’s not up to me what you choose to do, actually. In fact-” he tried to open the passenger side door at the same time that Miller unlocked the car. Wasn’t fazed. “You could drive away, and I wouldn’t stop you.” 

Miller let him get in the car first. If it’s gonna explode, might as well corner him into a Thelma and Louise situation. Or whatever the hell else he was talking about. Miller got in. He started the car. No ticking or anything yet. Put it in gear. Parked in a nearby space. 

“I could just walk away, right now?” 

“If you want. But, don’t you want to know why I’m here?” 

“No.”  _ Yes.  _

“Suit yourself then.” Ocelot didn’t move. Miller glanced over. He probably had one of those revolvers in the glove compartment but- Ocelot was calling his fucking bluff. 

“Okay. Fine. Why are you here?” 

“I’m here to offer you a choice, Miller.” 

Miller snorted. “Death by electrocution or immolation? How kind of you!” 

Ocelot’s voice was calm as ever. “I know it’s hard to believe. But I have every interest in keeping you alive.” 

“Oh, is there a fourth and final Snake clone that’s gonna burst out of my chest, Alien-style, in T-minus 3 days?” 

Ocelot’s eyes widened and he laughed. “Imagination sharp as ever, I see. But no. My motive’s honestly a lot more selfish than that.”  _ Selfish? _

“I’d love to hear  _ all about it _ . But I’m in control, right? We’re getting in my truck. I don’t know what the fuck you have planned in this car but I don’t want any part of it.” 

Ocelot nodded. “Understood.” 

On his way out, Miller caught a glimpse of what looked like a singed glove in the back seat. Caution be damned, Miller threw open the back door and grabbed it in his bionic hand. 

“What’s this?” It didn’t  _ look _ like it happened in a grilling accident. 

“Oh, that? Something about a wall of fire, I think?” You  _ think _ ? Miller slammed the car door shut and stepped around the Civic. He yanked Ocelot by the stupid red tie and shoved him backwards.

“ _ You?! _ Was that  _ fucking you _ who tried to break into my house?” 

Ocelot steadied himself. “Easy now, Miller. It wasn’t me.” 

“Then  _ who? _ ” 

“Liquid Snake. The other twin-” 

“The one who  _ impersonated me _ ?” 

“Yes.” 

“So this was his idea? And he was too stupid to get the job done?” 

“It was my idea. And I made sure he wouldn’t get the job done.” 

Miller turned away and began walking back to the truck. Might as well sit down for what he assumed would be an unnecessarily long story. 

“And how’s that?” he said, not bothering to look back to see if Ocelot followed. 

“I made sure all of his weapons weren’t usable and I- well, I made sure you suspected  _ something _ . You’ve always been… quite proficient… at protecting yourself.” 

“Why the fuck go to all that trouble?” Miller climbed up into the driver’s seat of his truck and waited for Ocelot to join him. 

“Because this is all for nothing if this part isn’t right,” he said, closing the passenger door and looking around the truck’s cab. 

“Are you sure your codename isn’t fucking Sphinx because you’re talking in fucking riddles, you know that?” 

“You’ll understand, soon. I can answer most things you ask, honestly. I’m here to give you information. The truth.” 

Miller backed the truck out. Sure. Take the quadruple agent at his  _ word _ . Worth a shot, though.    
“So then how about starting from the beginning?”

“World War II?” 

“No, asshole. You know what I mean. You know what’s going on. Where  _ do  _ you start?” 

“Alright. What do you know about The Patriots?” 

“The football team?”

“You knew them as Cipher back in the day.”

“They’re called  _ The Patriots _ now? That’s a dumbass lateral move for branding if I’ve ever heard one. Cipher is  _ way _ cooler.” 

“Well, it’s not like they’re a corporation who needs branding. And don’t even get me started on the ‘safety’ mechanisms.” 

Miller pulled out of the parking lot. Turned right. “What?”

“Seriously. Don’t get me started. Anyway. They’re about ready to deploy an all-encompassing AI that’s going to essentially run the world.” 

Kaz inhaled. Of  _ fucking  _ course they are. “Oh and so, now that you’ve told me that, you’re going to have to kill me, Mr. Bond?” 

“Miller…” his voice sounded like he was somewhere else for a second, “you know that’s bad practice.” 

“And you do everything by the book, right?” 

“Ha. Anyway. If you’re ‘dead’, when the AI goes up, you’re safe from it. You’re not in the system, so to speak.” 

“Kill me to protect me from Cipher. Real noble of you.” 

“Well, you’re not dead, right?” 

“ _ Yet. _ Or who knows? Maybe the clone actually did kill me and this is some version of hell. Fitting, isn’t it? In a truck with only an insufferable Russian for company, waiting for the end that never comes. Beckett would be proud.” 

That got another quiet laugh. But Ocelot’s voice turned serious.“You’re not dead. You won’t be, at least if i have anything to do with it. And you won’t be under The Patriots’ control. You’ll be free. That’s a promise, as much as something like that could mean from me.” 

“So, next to nothing?” Miller wasn’t ready to reflect on the weight of “free.” 

“Why do  _ you _ think I came all the way out here, then?” 

“I’ve only said it about thirty times.” 

“What’s my motive then, for coming to kill you? In your opinion.” 

“You… said you would. And. I don’t know, retribution? For what happened to Big Boss?” 

“I  _ said _ I would. But didn’t you yourself say that my word means nothing? So why was that more believable than this? Do you really think I would’ve let him get flamethrowered to death?” 

“You… chose him. After everything we’d been through. You ran back to him. And now suddenly you care about protecting me after twenty years. Why?”

“I never stopped.” 

“You can't just say shit like that, you know? That kind of shit actually  _ means _ something, to real people.”

He detected a hint of hurt in Ocelot's voice. “I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. It's like I said. I'm being straight up with you. All truths. No mind games. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to turn off the mind games.” 

Miller snorted. “I'm sure.” That's exactly what someone on twenty levels of nine-dimensional  chess mind games would say, right? And. Well. He didn't want to think about the alternative. Ocelot always lies. Why stop now? 

 

Miller registered his surroundings. Shit. In all of his concentration on the conversation he'd started driving home on autopilot. He could turn around but. At this point, why bother? Ocelot did seem  _ pretty damn insistent _ on not assassinating him and if he changed his mind, Miller would have the home field advantage. He knows where all the hidden weapons are. His dogs would be there. He'd get to the bottom of this game yet. And he'd exchange the false safety of a public place for the tactical advantage of his own home, if need be. 

“So let's pretend you're telling the truth. You're saying you  _ didn't _ choose him?” 

“Wouldn't dream of it.” 

“So what the hell were you doing then?” 

“Unfortunately, the plan required that everyone think I chose him. John, The Patriots…” he got quiet. “You.” 

_ Oh. _ He'd give Ocelot credit. He was being  _ awfully _ convincing. Any amateur would totally buy this. Miller broke the silence and turned on the radio. 

Pat Benetar’s voice played over the truck’s stereo from the local classic rock station 

“ _ We are strong _

_ No one can tell us we're wrong _ ”

“ _ Fuck _ no,” Miller interjected, clicking the radio right the fuck back off. He willed Ocelot not to say anything. Not to force him to think about listening to that song on a rusted-out oil rig in 1982 through a shitty boombox, laughing and swaying with Ocelot in his arms, drunk on the music, the cheap vodka, and the  _ possibilities.  _ Both of those men might as well be dead now. Fucking Ocelot probably planned for that song to be on the radio, the bastard. 

He didn't say anything. Wait. He... didn’t say anything. Of course. How would he have planned that? How much of all of this was all in Miller’s head? Actually, Ocelot could answer  _ that _ . Or some of it.  _ Did _ he and Cipher cause the 1998 El Nino to flood Los Angeles and inconvenience Miller? 

“Ocelot?” 

Ocelot made a surprised noise like he hadn’t expected to hear his own name. 

“I got a question about Cipher.” 

“Shoot.” 

“Did they ever experiment with weather control? I saw something about that online. There any truth to it?”

Ocelot seemed almost relieved. “Not weather control as far as I’m aware. Doesn’t make much sense, when you think about it. Too many resources. The AI is going to have powerful pattern-tracking capabilities and be able to track, predict, and exploit just about any weather pattern you can imagine, though.” 

That was… believable, Miller had to admit. He turned the truck into the driveway and pressed the button to open up the garage. Here goes nothing. 

“Is- is this?” 

“My house? Yeah. Don’t make me change my mind, asshole. One wrong move and my dogs will eat you alive.” He caught a glimpse of the chainsaw in the truck’s running lights. He  _ could _ use that thing to give Ocelot his own personal horror movie experience. Not  _ go through with it _ or anything. He’d never developed that same penchant for sadism. But scare him good. Like he did for twenty years. Put that idea on the side table, for sure. 

He got out of the truck, flipped the light switch, and hit the button to close the garage door.  The electric light gave him, finally, a good look at his would-be assassin, standing in front of him. Still slender as ever. And gray as ever, long hair pulled into a loose over-the-shoulder ponytail. Mustache was still a disaster but admittedly not as bad as the ‘80s when he looked like a high schooler and a grandpa all at once. And he'd traded the yeehaw-themed sex offender wardrobe for a classier look. He'd kept the iconic duster, but now it was over a vest and matching slacks, paired with a tie to match his red gloves. Had to give him credit for dressing for the occasion, he supposed. 

The dogs were barking. Miller opened the door into the house and Cody came barreling through, bounding past him straight to Ocelot. He stood up on his hind legs, attempting to rest his one paw on Ocelot, tail wagging, tongue hanging out. 

“Really, Cody? Seriously? You  _ trust _ him?” Miller turned to Ocelot. “Did you fucking psy-op my dog?” 

Ocelot laughed. “Maybe he’s got some wisdom he could purport to his dad. What’d you say his name was? Cody?” He reached down to pet the excited dog. 

“Yeah.” Miller entered the house and saw the other three dogs standing their ground across the room. At least  _ the girls  _ had some sense. Or. They tried. Despite her stance, Noodles was wagging her tail pretty hard. A for effort, Noodles. 

Miller went back into the garage and put in the doorstop. Walked past Ocelot acting like an actual person and grabbed a big bag of rice. On the way back from depositing it in the kitchen, he noticed Ocelot with an armful of groceries and Cody at his heels.  

“What are you doing?”

Ocelot stared blankly at him. “I’m getting stuff out of the truck. Did you want me to stop?” 

Miller paused. Why was he helping? Was this also part of  _ the plan? _ ... _ Did  _ he want him to stop? 

“I guess not.” Ocelot continued walking to the kitchen. Miller turned. “And uh, thanks?” 

“I’m a guest in your home after all.” 

So this was happening. Three days he’d spent, constructing absurd booby traps to keep him out, not to mention the  _ twenty years  _ he’d spent in fear and now. Now, he guessed, he was right, he’d been invited in. Maybe Ocelot operated on fucking vampire rules. He really did have that Slavic torturer face. Miller looked up and oh  _ God he was right there. _ Score one for vampire hypothesis. 

“You can change your mind if you want. If you ask me to leave I will. But-” he smiled, scratching Cody’s neck, “I think our little buddy might disagree with your decision.” 

What the fuck  _ was _ this? Miller walked back into the garage. “Nope. I still got plenty more questions for you. You’re not getting off that easy.” 

Miller started to put the food and various other items away. “Y’know you don’t just have to stand there like a weirdo in the middle of my kitchen? You can take a seat.” 

“Of course.” He took a seat at the table. A curious Noodles approached to sniff him. The huskies cautiously followed. 

Miller started. “Can, uh-”  _ Was he really offering Revolver fucking Ocelot a glass of water?-  _ “Can I get you a drink or anything?” 

“Sure. Ice water?” 

Miller nodded and poured two glasses of ice water. He sat down. . 

Ocelot gestured to Noodles, who had reached her own conclusion and rested her head on his knee. “And who’s this?” 

“Oh, that’s Noodles. I thought she  _ knew better _ . Mandy, Kari, c’mere.” The huskies’ ears perked up and they came to Miller’s side. “You guys won’t betray me, right?” 

“What was it you said earlier? One wrong move and they’ll eat me alive? I can definitely see how… Ferocious beasts...” He buried his hands in Noodles’ fluffy neck. 

“Guess you haven’t made a wrong move yet.” 

There he was again, fucking  _ smiling _ . It almost looked  _ real.  _ He noticed that Ocelot was taking off his gloves. Miller stared. 

“What? Noodles appears to be  _ very soft _ and I would like to confirm.” 

“Um.” Instead of the pale, elegantly proportioned hand covered in lightning scars that would match his left, Ocelot appeared to have a significantly chunkier right hand. No scars, a few shades tanner. 

“Oh, that? This one’s a hell of a story. Hope you’re comfortable in that seat.” 

Miller took a sip of his water. “Let’s hear it then. So, Gray Fox relieved you of the hand, right?” That much he knew from David. He’d admittedly forgotten about that detail until just now. He tapped his metal fingers against the table. “Poetic justice, don’t you think?” 

“Well, in my case, I got it replaced right away.”  _ Don’t go there, asshole. _

“Why’s it so goofy looking compared to your other hand?” 

“Well. One of the final phases in the master plan is to fully convince the Patriots I’ve gone off the deep end. A crazy old man they can write off. So I’m going to fake being possessed by a ghost.” 

“Like, the fucking Exorcist? What does that have to do with hands?”

“The cause for possession would be, in this case, attaching Liquid Snake’s arm to my body.” 

Miller instinctively grabbed the handgun that was concealed under the table and stood up, brandishing it.“ _ That’s Liquid Snake’s? _ What the  _ fuck _ ? What the  _ actual  _ fuck?”  _ Are you sure you have to  _ convince _ Cipher you’re a crazy old man? _ Mandy and Kari whined and backed away from him. 

Ocelot’s eyes were wide but his voice remained calm.“Well, not exactly. Dr. Naomi Hunter informed me that this plan in its original form wouldn’t work because Liquid and I have different blood types, among other reasons. So we settled for having Eva’s contact in France make an incredibly convincing prosthesis.” 

Miller exhaled and set the gun down.  _ Christ _ . He’d better check for himself anyway. Ocelot  _ did  _ say he was in control here. He stepped over right next to Ocelot. “Can I confirm that you’re telling the truth?” 

Ocelot laid his hand on the table in front of Miller. “Of course.” 

_ Shnk _ . Miller deployed the knife attachment in his bionic hand and brought it down on Ocelot’s right hand. He felt the tip stop against what felt like metal. Alright. He retracted the blade and laid a cautious left hand on Ocelot’s. It definitely felt synthetic, like his own, if not a little uncanny with the skinlike outer surface. “I’ll need to, ah, fix that, for the plan, like I was saying.” 

“Right. The plan. Your master plan that would be absolutely ruined if Cipher found out? That you’re trusting me with, right now, for… why? ” 

“I’ve always trusted you.” 

Miller looked down.  _ When did their fingers get lightly entwined? _ He looked back up at Ocelot, who averted his eyes and pulled his hand back. 

“ _ Why? _ Is it not your  _ job _ to trust  _ no one?  _ And not waste time ‘protecting’  _ accountants _ you swore to kill? Or is that just part of it? Part of your master plan, get ‘possessed’ by a ghost too! No one can ever tell what your next move will be!” 

“Miller… That’s not… That isn’t why. You weren’t part of the plan. I  _ changed  _ the plan. For this. To give you the option-” 

“For  _ what _ ? Why go to all that trouble?” 

 

“I figured, after everything you… we… went through, you deserved your peace. It’s your name after all.” 

“Since when the fuck are you so sentimental and  _ since when _ have you  _ ever cared  _ about doing right by anyone?” 

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Miller searched Ocelot’s face for  _ some kind of tell _ . He found eyes that could only be described as  _ forlorn _ , regarding him. 

_ Oh. Fuck. Of fucking course. Never stopped- Always trusted- fucking- first time for everything- changed the plan-fuck.  _ He took Ocelot’s hand, pulled him to his feet, and took him in his arms. Ocelot made a surprised noise and returned the embrace.

“You fucking dumbass son of a bitch,” Miller breathed.

“Miller… I’m-” 

“You can- you can call me Kaz, if you’re really not here to murder me.” 

His voice was quiet, like a prayer. “Kaz…” His hold tightened on Miller. Twenty years of fear and hatred was based on a  _ falsehood _ and now, where that used to be… a void of- he didn’t know what the fuck it was but he didn’t want to let go. 

“ _ Kaz _ me all you want, you have a  _ shit-ton _ of explaining to do.” 


End file.
